Outdated Strategies
by Kailey Hamilton
Summary: After a distressing situation in Ishval, Roy has to deal with the fact that achieving his dreams might come at a bigger cost than imagined - that, and the fact that Riza always knows best. Post-Promised Day. Royai. Oneshot. Warning: Mild descriptions of violence.


_Note: Whew, I almost forgot what writing a full length oneshot felt like and therefore, having to give it a title and a summary. This one is in response to **Xennariel** 's prompts on Tumblr (word: fight. phrase: "I'll do anything. You know that.") Liberal interpretation of prompts as usual.  
_

 _Also, as a disclaimer, I must add that the radical group depicted in this work is based of many such groups who have used questionable means to fight for rightful causes and does not reflect my personal views on any social justice issue whatsoever._

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 **Outdated Strategies**

In his dream, in his vision of a better future, Roy never imagined that he'd need to rescue one of his subordinates from an armed group of Ishvalan separatists. The separatist militia was a loud, unpredictable minority, disliked even by like-minded individuals who dreamed of an Ishval free of Amestrian rule. But they were an expected consequence of the war, the exile, and the return to the homeland. They were young people raised in oppression, whose god felt far away, and had nothing to lose. They were armed to their teeth. They were fearless.

That's why, for almost a week, Major Hammond had been held hostage. To grant his freedom, General Roy Mustang should agree to relinquish all responsibility over Ishval within a period of a year. The success of the rescue operation meant that they didn't have to give in to any demands just yet, but it had only activated a ticking bomb. This hostage situation had been poorly planned and flawlessly solved. Next time the militia struck, they would not be so lucky.

After it was all said and done, Roy only wanted to sleep. But he had spent his entire afternoon in a meeting with the Ishvalan leadership in Eastern HQ, with Riza standing close by. It was night, a cloudy, dark night, when they finally made it to Riza's apartment for the first time since this nightmare started. For once, he had driven them there. Her fatigue was of a more consuming kind. The week he'd spent directing the operation in ventilated caravans, she'd spent up on decayed rooftops. She'd been the one to fire the shots that injured the captors. Her heart only found a semblance of rest when she learned that no one was in mortal danger.

Sleep. That's all they could think of. They wanted to fall asleep into each other's arms, finishing this difficult chapter of their story as they'd done with many others - together, always together, and reassured of each other's love. But to their discontent, their thoughts wouldn't stray far from the events of the previous week. That's how they found themselves after eating, after a much needed shower, sitting on the only sofa of her tiny living room over a cup of tea. They were too tired to move, too alert to fall asleep.

"This feels like negotiating with terrorists," he said after a long silence. "And I can deal with that. I cannot deal with the knowledge that they will refuse to lay down arms either way."

Riza said nothing.

"I assume you're thinking of something I will disagree with?" he prodded. She shook her head.

"So many productive things for us to do in Ishval, and we're facing pressure from a group that doesn't necessarily reflect the wants or needs of the majority." She sighed, leaning her head back against the backrest, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "What you misinterpret as dissent in me is just… sadness, I suppose." She turned her head to look at him. Her wistful eyes did reflect the emotion she spoke of. "They have every right to be angry, while we have no right to demand of them to channel their anger in a way that suits us better. And yet…"

And yet, he thought, they were dealing with these insurgents as they would deal with an enemy. These kids had fresh faces and hearts of fire, not unlike the boy he had been when he'd first talked about protecting his country. Could he really judge those doing the wrong thing for a noble goal?

"We must negotiate," he said. "We must, and they will be expecting it. But it won't be enough."

This time, Riza couldn't pretend her short silence was devoid of all dissent. Roy raised his eyebrows. She avoided his gaze.

"I don't believe we must negotiate, sir. It will send the wrong message, not only to the Amestrian people, but to the Ishvalan leadership."

"What do you propose, then?"

She was leaning forward now, her pale gold hair hiding her face. Unlike Roy, she couldn't sit still. She was restless, her mind working in overdrive in spite of her exhaustion – or maybe because of it, maybe it was her current state lowering her tight filters and allowing her to run free with her thoughts. It was the first sign; hell was about to break loose. And Riza must have not wanted these truths to be read on her face.

"I'm suggesting unilateral action. What they want, under our terms."

"Explain." The bitter taste in his mouth grew stronger.

"They ultimately want independence, but we know their leadership believes Amestris has to take responsibility at the moment. But this won't last. They must believe that Ishval, in the long run, should become an independent nation. So we should offer just that."

Roy frowned. She was saying nothing he wasn't aware of, but this was merely a preamble, and an unwelcome one. Giving these people what they wanted, against the majority's wishes, was unthinkable.

"Our terms?"

"Popular vote."

So that was it. That was the dagger piercing his chest, and it was doubly sharp as it carried the impulse of a cause he wholeheartedly believed in. But it was impossible. No one in the entire East, not even Riza, understood political theory as well as he did. Her suggestion was building castles in the air, made of clouds and dazzling dreams. Roy was usually the one with the radical ideas, the ones far too idealistic to be put into practice. Riza was the one usually reminding him to stay grounded. There was no worse moment than this one for the roles to be reversed.

"This country is not yet ready for democracy," he reminded her calmly. But he would've been a fool not to realize she was expecting this response.

"A precedent has to be set at some point," she argued. "It would be best to do it early."

"You're suggesting that, if we submit the matter to popular vote soon enough, they will certainly vote no on independence. And this fabricated election will buy us time, dismantle all armed resistance, and legitimize our rule."

When he said it out loud, clear and without colorful words to adorn the scheming nature of this strategy, it sounded like an idea of his. No, it wasn't like Riza to think in such terms. It was almost immoral. But now she was now looking at him, a piercing, furious gaze in her usually mild eyes. Too late, Roy understood he had betrayed his doubts more plainly than he intended.

"Do not misjudge my intentions, sir." Her voice shook dangerously, but when she spoke again, it was even and self-possessed. "An election like this, even when we can anticipate the result, will allow the Ishvalan people to officially state that they don't want independence at the moment. It seems to be the only way to make the armed resistance understand that they are acting against the interests of their own kin."

"There must be another way."

"They have made it obvious that they will not trust the Amestrian government, and they don't respond to the demands of their own. It's their brothers and sisters they will listen to. I'm willing to concede there must be another way, but even after today, you were unable to find any."

His chest was burning, fists clenched. He stared at Riza, unblinking, and she met his eye with defiance.

Through the mist that clouded his judgment, his heart jumped. He often made the mistake to forget how clever Riza was. She was always so simple, so unassuming in her wants and needs. She'd been taught to be obedient, passive, to follow rather than to lead. She could even fool him, sometimes. Him, who knew her better than anyone. But she was sharp, obstinate, brilliant, and knew herself to be a force not to be reckoned with. Part of her must hate being so tied to him, for sure, when she could do so much with her own two hands.

His wonder subsided to more urgent feelings. Her challenging stance bordered on insolence; that troubled him little. No. Riza was suggesting something that went against everything he had dreamed of since the Ishvalan war had ended. He couldn't have it.

"I can't accept that idea," he said. "What if we're wrong? What if they vote yes, and rebuilding Ishval is suddenly out of our hands?"

"Do you prefer risking war?"

"Their militias aren't strong enough to-"

"The same was said about the civil war."

"They won't start a war. We're doing nothing to provoke them."

"The fact that we're so intent in denying them sovereignty may be taken as provocation."

Even in his current state, Roy couldn't pretend she was wrong. But her voice did nothing to conceal her annoyance, and his anger fed on it.

"Could you, in good conscience, give up responsibility over Ishval so easily? Would you sleep easy after that, Captain?"

Her answer waited for a few seconds.

"I think it wrong to refuse them a right they might be craving," she finally said.

"And I," he retorted, "think it wrong to instigate the birth of an independent nation under a crumbling foundation, and under the demands of an armed militia who might not represent the majority."

"What do you propose, then?"

"I propose not to take desperate measures."

"It's a desperate situation, one we hadn't prepared for. You cannot aim to win this game using an outdated strategy."

"I'm not going to set us up for failure," he declared loudly. "Is that what you're suggesting?"

She also raised her voice. It was the tone she used when scolding him, when he had done something wrong beyond measure. Her eyes burned.

"I'm suggesting that if we fail to rebuild Ishval, let it not be because you were clinging so desperately to old dreams that you chose the possibility of war over letting go," she said. "Let it not be because you held their nation hostage under the guise of doing what's best for them, risking more destruction instead of rebirth." Her tone went back to normal, but all traces of her fury were still there. "I'll do anything for you, sir. You know that. But I'm not following you into another Ishvalan war."

Her words chilled him to his very core. She might as well have taken out her revolver and pointed it to his head. He would've dared her to shoot him, but those words held the weight of the world now that he'd forced her hand against him once. That memory, though pushed to the back of his mind immediately, did enough to stop him in his tracks. He had put Riza through so much, and that long list of burdens now included her lying down on a rooftop under the scorching Ishvalan sun, waiting for hours for his order to shoot that may come in a minute, or in several hours. The image appeared as vivid as if it were right in front of his eyes.

Riza wasn't the kind to complain about the path she had chosen, but she felt it deeply. That week she'd been mostly left alone with her thoughts, separated from him at nearly all times. Everything that consumed her soul had been buried under the weight of her duty. It was no wonder that the possibility of war appeared so real, so menacing to her. It was understandable that her confidence would crumble, and that fear would take its place.

"I cannot imagine how difficult this week must have been for you, Captain."

Upon showing empathy, he felt his indignation dissolve into thin air. But his words only seemed to annoy her more.

"You'd be mistaken, sir, if you assume that I'm speaking from a place of personal interest."

"I wouldn't dare," he assured her, but she was not moved. "I meant to imply that you clearly see things that I do not, and that's why I shall trust your instinct. I'm sorry for dismissing your words so quickly."

She didn't give him any signs of accepting his apology. He didn't need her to. The matter wasn't personal for him either, and if she felt wronged, he couldn't blame her or force her to feel otherwise. He only needed to act as he ought, and Riza would come around when he'd earned it.

"I shall propose your idea to the relevant bodies. We'll need to explain to the Fuhrer and to the Ishvalan leadership that this is not a move to try to rid ourselves from accountability." He sighed. "It shall be done, however, and the rest is out of our hands for the time being. We might have to make them believe it was their own idea."

Something about that last phrase made Riza smile. It was a coy smile, more evident in a sparkling gaze than in the soft curve of her lips. It was too swift, however; it was cut short by a yawn she couldn't repress.

"It's been a long day," she said afterward. It was her way of letting him know the conversation was over, and that she needed to sleep. He had no answer for her, so she stood up slowly, almost dragging her feet as she walked to her bedroom. Roy wanted to follow her, but the last few minutes had formed a barrier between them that he couldn't easily breach.

"Am I sleeping in the couch tonight?" he ventured.

She stopped on her tracks, but took a few seconds to turn around. The glance he received was harsh.

"Don't be silly."

He was half-expecting her to say she would be driving him home after all, but she never did. Her anger wasn't consuming her enough to want him gone, or maybe her exhaustion won the battle. However, she stood at the threshold. She didn't need to beckon him to follow for him to understand the hint, but he stopped halfway.

"Captain…"

He had too much to say, too much to make her understand, before they could cross that doorway. Her bedroom was a sacred place where rank and duty were forgotten for a few stolen hours at a time. He wasn't about to ruin that.

She walked one step closer to him. Just one step, so he bridged the rest of the distance until he stood in front of her, a little too close, yet too far away for all he longed to do. He hesitated, only reaching out to touch her fingertips. His plea was answered when she rested her head on his shoulders and slowly wrapped her arms around him. Roy couldn't be so deliberate; he was holding her close in an instant, hugging as tightly as he could without hurting her. She smelled of flowers and spices, of a fresh shower and clean pajamas. He could almost fool himself into pretending this could always be their life.

"There will be no war," he whispered, "even if I have to stop the first bullet with my own body. That is a promise."

"Sir, you're still being silly. You know that any bullet headed your way will find me first."

"No bullets, then." He pressed his lips against her forehead. He didn't hear it, but he could feel her hum in contentment. "You're too important."

She released him, so he imitated her, allowing their eyes to meet. He hoped he could convey in a glance everything he wished her to know, everything he still didn't dare to say after all these years. Hers was certainly that expressive, prompting his heart to beat faster. Under those eyes, he would make any promise. Everything that had bothered him before was weightless now. If Riza, of all people, could still show him loyalty, then he must trust that every doubt he had was baseless, and everything she believed in was possible.

In the end, it was him who would follow her anywhere.


End file.
